


The unlikely friendship of Trashmouth Tozier and Stan The Man

by TheHoardingPuffin



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: (well... almost everybody), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Asexual Stanley Uris, Multi, Podfic Welcome, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris Are Best Friends, Richie Tozier is a Little Shit, Stanley Uris Lives, Stanley Uris-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:47:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28216446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHoardingPuffin/pseuds/TheHoardingPuffin
Summary: Stanley had not planned on befriending Richie “Trashmouth” Tozier. It happened anyways.Snippets of their friendship over the years because I think we should have had more of this in the movies.
Relationships: Background Richie Tozier/Eddie Kasprak, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris, The Losers Club & Stanley Uris, background beverly marsh/ben hanscom
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41





	The unlikely friendship of Trashmouth Tozier and Stan The Man

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there!  
> So, I have never written any It Fanfic (well... I wrote some but I didn't publish it, actually)... please be kind, I am still learning to write all the characters and voices.  
> Basically, Stanley is my favourite and I will forever be mad that we 1) never saw him in Chapter 2 (let's be real, he is basically the only one with braincells apart from Mike, which could have helped IMMENSELY) and 2) that we never saw as much of the Richie-Stanley-friendship as we should have (well, then again, we didn't see a lot of the friendship moments we should have...)  
> Anyways, so, these are essentially snippets from Richie and Stan's friendship over the years (but the other Losers and Patty as well). Also, this is slightly AU because I ain't killing no favourite characters, and also I wanted Reddie, so there is some Reddie. Oh, and I also slightly altered the whole thing with how much people can remember about Derry after leaving, for convenience. So, basically, you can still remember Derry, it's just a bit blurry and obviously you can't remember any of the supernatural stuff. I don't know, I always found it odd the Losers didn't try to keep in touch...  
> Finally, concerning the comedy bit at the end - I do not write Comedy, ever, so please excuse if it's shitty, which I fear it is... Comedic Stage Bits are simply not my forté.  
> I hope you like it, and reviews, critique etc. are always highly appreciated!  
> Loads of love, Lotta

Stanley Uris met Richie Tozier because of a jay bird.

When he looked back to it later, Stanley wondered how the hell that had even happened. Maybe he had suffered from a temporary case of utter stupidity, or stubborn disobedience – who knows.

The fact was, at five years old, Stanley Uris, the kid who was always so well-behaved and had never once disobeyed his parents (well, not since he had been three and had refused to eat broccoli), had seen a beautiful jay bird and had run after it, without his parents even noticing.

The jay had lured him away, jumping from tree to tree, twitting cheekily and showing off the blue stripes on his wings, and Stanley – who had been interested in birds for as long as he could remember – had been following it, head high to keep an eye on it. He had run, and run, and run after the bird, until he had collided with someone. Another boy, a bit bigger, probably also a bit older than him. Both had fallen to the ground, and while Stanley was still rubbing his elbow from where he had landed on it, the other boy had gotten up, kicked him out of his way and stalked off.

Stanley didn’t remember who that boy had been. Maybe Hockstetter or Bowers, but he truthfully had no idea. He didn’t remember. What he did remember was that, while he was still on the ground, now clutching his stomach where the boy had kicked him – the dull ache in his elbow immediately forgotten – was the voice of another boy behind him.

“You okay?”

Stanley had sat up and stared at the boy in front of him. Short, wire-y, black hair and thick glasses on a tiny red nose.

“He’s a bully”, the boy had said. “You okay?”

“Think so.” His stomach hurt and his clothes were all dirty, but altogether… he was alive.

The other boy had held out a hand and pulled him on his feet. “I’m Richie.”

“Stanley Uris.”

“Nice ta meetcha, Staaaan!”

Stanley, with all the poise and adult-ness a five-year-old could muster, had stared down at Richie. “What’s with the voice?”

“What’s with the walking around with your head up?”

Stanley had wrinkled his nose. “There was a bird. A pretty one.”

“I don’t see no bird.” Richie had shrugged. “Hey, you wanna know, what?”

“No.”

Richie had giggled. “I like you.”

“You don’t know me.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Richie had grinned at him. One tooth had been missing, right in the middle of the upper row. “Didn’t know Eddie either and he’s my friend anyways.”

“We’re not friends.”

“Didn’t _ask_ you, you know?”

Stanley had – miming an adult again – sighed deeply, brushed off his clothes best as he could and had walked away, only to be found and be scolded (by father) and the hugged (by mother).

For the rest of the evening, Stanley had thought about two things: The pretty jay bird and that odd kid, Richie.

**°°°**

They met again for the second time a year later when they had started school. On the first day, Stanley sat down at the front of the class room, because nobody was sitting there yet and he liked having his space, and ignored everyone else until someone tapped him on the shoulder.

It was a boy with black hair and thick glasses.

“Hiya, you’re Stan, right?”

It took him a moment to recognize him. “Richie?”

“The one and the only!” Richie grinned at him. “Why’re you sitting here?”

“It was a free seat.”

“Only nerds sit in the front.”

Stanley shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

Richie pulled a face. “C’mon, Stan, you can meet my friends!”

He didn’t give Stanley any room to argue, he just pulled him up – with barely enough time to grab his backpack – and practically dragged him over to a bunch of tables a bit further towards the back. Two boys were already sitting there, both with brown hair, but otherwise not much alike. One of them was doodling, the other looked kind of nervous.

“Who’s that?”, the nervous one asked.

“This? Why, this –“ Richie grinned again, bowing deeply and gesticulated towards Stanley. “This is my dearest friend, Stan the Man.”

“My name is _not_ Stan the Man”, Stanley said, strictly.

“Don’t b-bo-bother”, the doodler said. “If Richie gives you a na- a nickname, it sticks.”

“Good to know.” Stanley sighed and decided to sit down – somehow he got the feeling Richie wouldn’t let him get back to his former seat in the front row.

The nickname-thing seemed to be true, he found. Richie refused to call him anything but _Stan  
the Man_, referred to Bill as _Big Bill_ , and for Eddie – the third boy at the table – he had a whole list of nicknames, one more ridiculous than the next. _Eds_ seemed to be the least horrendous one, though Eddie didn’t like that one either; other offenders were _Eddie Spaghetti_ , _Eddie-Bear_ or _Eduardo_. Bill and Eddie, however, had a nickname for Richie as well, and that one Stanley actually considered using: _Trashmouth_.

It made sense. Richie’s mouth never stood still, he was almost always talking, and sometimes every second word was a cussword. _Fuck_ seemed to be his favourite, but he had more colourful ones as well. And even if he wasn’t cussing around, there was just a whole lot of bullshit coming out of Richie’s mouth when the day got long. It was annoying, really.

And the voices.

Richie loved doing voices – but he wasn’t exactly great at it. There was potential, probably, Stanley thought, but mostly, at the moment anyways, Richie’s voices were just plain annoying. He did poor impressions of their various teachers, imitated everyone’s parents and sometimes, if he was feeling brave, he used what he called his _British Guy Voice_. Stanley wasn’t sure what the hell his accent was, but it certainly wasn’t British (since, and he told him so several times over the next few years until he finally gave up, there was a big bunch of different British Accents… what Richie was doing was, maybe, on a good day, a bad imitation of a London English Accent).

But no matter how much he pretended to be annoyed by Richie (and no matter how much he actually was annoyed by him a lot of the time), he found that his life probably would have been a lot more boring without him, or Eddie, or Bill. Not that he’d ever admit it.

**°°°**

They had a good dynamic going on, the four of them. Eddie was an endless worrier and always had some sort of worry of bug or what-have-you, but he also was the one who had plasters and antiseptic on him at all times and who could patch the others up when they got into trouble (mostly with Bowers). Bill was, once you got past the stutter and initial shyness, a very headstrong and kind person, caring and trustworthy. He helped out whenever he could – his baby brother, when he needed a toy build, a book read or a monster under the bed defeated – Eddie when he was having an asthma attack – Richie with homework – Stanley with the Hebrew he had to learn for his dreaded Bar Mitzvah. Richie – as annoying as he could be with his horrible jokes and his voices (though those were actually getting better) was undoubtedly the loyalist friend anyone could imagine. He was a pain in the arse, sure, but he also was one-hundred-percent ready to lunge into a fistfight to defend his friends. And Stanley? Well… Bill had said once that Stanley was _the one with enough braincells to keep everyone in check_ and maybe hadn’t been too wrong. At any rate, Stanley tried his best to be the voice of reason, the calm in-between-person.

It was a good dynamic. Stanley liked this dynamic.

So naturally, when their group was added to by the new kid, Ben, and Beverly Marsh, he didn’t know what to think or feel about it.

Ben, well, had stumbled into them (quite literally) and they had done the minimum of human decency, patching him up. Having him join their group wasn’t something Stanley objected to too much, even though he didn’t know Ben that well yet. He was hated by Bowers, and Bill, Richie, Eddie and Stanley were hated by Bowers. Nothing much would change for them with Ben joining.

It was Beverly that really had Stanley doubting.

He didn’t really know Beverly. He knew the rumours, sure, because everyone did, but he didn’t care much for rumours. Truthfully, he couldn’t care less if she had or hadn’t slept with all the boys at the school (though he doubted it). What he did care about was the change of dynamic in their group with the girl joining.

Maybe it was a stupid fear. It probably was.

**°°°**

“Beverly?”

It was dark, his flashlight wasn’t doing much at all.

It smelled bad. No. It smelled horrible. Wet and dead and mouldy.

A clattering noise from the dark. A flute.

The monster – the woman from the painting – was above him, rows and rows of needle-like teeth bared, and then there was darkness, darkness, darkness, and pain, pain, pain, and he was so fucking scared, scared, sca-

“Stanley!” – “Stanley, wake up!” – “Stan!” – “Come on, Stan!”

He gasped for air, his face was burning, and his heart was racing – there were people around him that looked like his friends – Stanley tried to crawl backwards, screaming senselessly as the people tried to grab him –

“Stan!” – “Stan, it’s okay!” – “Stanley, no!”

“NO!” Sobs forced their way out his throat. “NO! YOU LEFT ME! YOU LEFT ME!”

Breathing hurt. His face was burning.

“YOU MADE ME GO INTO NEIGHBOLT! YOU LEFT ME!”

His voice was shrill and hurt him in his ears.

“Stanley – Stan, I’m sorry!” – “Stan, we’re sorry!” – “Look at us, it’s us!”

“YOU’RE NOT MY FRIENDS!”

“Stanley – listen!”

He was sitting in shit-water, his face was burning, and he slumped down, sobbing endlessly. “You made me go into Neighbolt”, he whimpered. “You made me go – this is your fault – you made me – I – you – you _made_ me – you did – you-“

Eddie’s arm was around his shoulder and Richie hugged him tightly from the other side, and even though he didn’t want to – he was angry, he was terrified, he wanted to _leave_ – Stanley latched on and didn’t let go. Hands were on his shoulders and arms and back, and Eddie was behind him and Richie was holding him in his arms and whispered in his ear, over and over again: “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s all okay, I’m sorry, I am sorry!” until Stanley could breathe again.

“We would never let anything happen to you”, Mike promised.

“Never”, Eddie vowed.

“We would never do that.” Ben.

“You know… you know we wouldn’t do that to you.” Richie.

Wet noises, somewhere. Eddie let go of him. “BILL!”

Bill, where was – Bill, where – Stanley forced his panic down and looked up. Bill was gone.

The others let go of him, running down the next tunnel – all except Richie, who grabbed Stanley by the forearms and slowly helped him get up.

“Okay?”, he asked.

Stanley managed a nod.

**°°°**

“You okay, Stanley?”

Richie looked nervous, and his voice sounded strangely small.

“Think so.” Stan shrugged.

They were sitting in an old playground, on the swings. Nobody was around. Stanley still had bandages wrapped around his head, and a new one around his hand.

Richie pulled his legs to his chest – how he managed not to fall of the small swing was a miracle of physics – and rested his chin on his knees. “Really?”

“No.”

“Me neither.”

“I know.”

Richie chuckled darkly. “Of course you do, Stan the Man.”

He hadn’t heard the nickname since everything with the It began. It felt good – even though he hated it – to hear it.

“Don’t call me that.”

Richie made an odd noise and then, in a weird sing-song voice: “Staaaan-leeeyy the-heee Maaaan-lyyyy…”

“Oh God, that’s worse.”

Richie laughed,

“Stop it. Seriously.”

“Whatever you say, Stan.” Richie stopped singing and shot him a shit-eating grin. “Stan the Man.”

Stanley rolled his eyes. „I don’t have a say in this, do I?”

“Nope.” Richie plopped his voice with the _P_. Stanley sighed. “Of course…”

For a while, they sat there in silence. A blackbird was singing somewhere in the trees nearby.

“Stanley?”

“Hm?”

“Do you really hate us?”

Stanley looked at Richie, one eyebow raised. “What?”

“Yesterday. You said that you hate us.”

Yesterday. On the meadow by the river, in the Barrens.

“No.”

“Yes you did.”

“I mean… No. I don’t hate you.”

“Oh.” Richie nodded slowly. “Okay. Good.”

“Did you actually think I hated you?” Stanley leaned forward. “Seriously?”

“I don’t know!” Richie threw his hands in the air. “I mean, you have all the right to fucking hate us!”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Richie looked him in the eye. “We made you go into Neighbolt. The It almost killed you.”

Stanley thought about it. “If I hadn’t come, maybe things would have gone better.”

“Bullshit.”

“No, I mean it. Maybe if I hadn’t come with, you would have gotten there earlier. But maybe you wouldn’t have at all.” Stanley took a deep breath. “I think it was good I was there. Somehow.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, or I wouldn’t say so.” Stanley plucked at the edge of the bandage around his hand. “You guys are my friends. I had to be there.”

He was telling himself that. He didn’t believe it.

**°°°**

_Tap-Tap-Tap._

It was the middle of the night and Stanley was perched up in the tree in front of Richie’s window, gently knocking against the glass.

_Tap-Tap-Tap._

A light was turned on inside and a very tired-looking Richie tapered to the window, opened it and squinted into the darkness outside before, a bit belated, putting on his glasses. “Stan?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

Richie nodded and moved back so Stanley could climb inside.

“What’s wrong?”

Stanley took a breath, trying to calm himself. “I’m… I… I’m not okay.”

It took Richie a moment to understand. Then, he closed the window, and pulled Stanley over to the bed. They sat down, backs leaning against the wall.

“Tell me.”

Stanley almost choked on a sob.

“I’m scared, Richie. I am so… _so_ fucking scared!”

He was hugging the arm with the bandaged palm to his chest.

“I can’t do it, Rich. I can’t do it again. I can’t, I can’t, I…”

Richie didn’t wait or ask. He pulled Stanley into a hug, and held him while he was shaking and crying.

“I almost died down there, I… Beverly died, and… and Georgie… and… I can’t… I…”

He barely got the words out between sobs and hiccups.

“I… I… Richie, I can’t come back. I can’t do it. I can’t.”

There was a hand in his hair, and another on his back, drawing small circles.

“You can. I know you can.”

“No, Richie, I can’t! I barely could this time. I can’t do it again!”

“Stanley. Stan. Stan!” Richie grabbed him by the shoulders first, then placed one hand on his cheek, careful of the bandages. “You can! You are the strongest out of all of us!”

New tears swelled up in his eyes. “I’m not.”

“Yes you are, stop contradicting me, asshole.” Richie cleared his throat. “You went in _even though_ you were scared! You could have run away after the It tried to chew your face off! And you _didn’t_! You stayed!”

He wrapped his arms around Stanley again.

“You were there with us even though you were so afraid. Do you even know how fucking brave that was?”

Stanley sniffed. “I’m not brave.”

“Can you stop being stupid for one second?”

Richie took a deep breath. “Stanley. That thing literally _lives_ from fear. It _eats_ fear. You were probably reeking of it and you knew and I knew and we all knew that. And you _still_ went down. You still fought with us. How the fuck is that not brave?”

Stanley laughed. It sounded wet and strained.

“I am not brave.”

“You are, didn’t you fucking listen?” Richie held him a bit tighter. “You are so, so brave, Stanley. And you’re not alone. No matter what. Okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Say it like you mean it.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” Richie gave him a pet on the back. “Wanna crash here tonight?”

“My parents would get a fit if I’m not there tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Richie got up and put on socks and shoes.

Stanley stared at him. “What… what are you doing?”

Richie grinned. “I’m crashing at your place. I don’t have a curfew and nothing.”

“Your parents-“

“Relax, I’ll leave a note.”

**°°°**

“Stan? Stanley? Stan the Man the Birdman!”

Stanley’s door flew open and Richie bolted into the room.

“Hello to you too.” Stanley put his book down. “What the fuck happened to you?”

Richie’s face was beet-red, his eyes behind the glasses were even wider than usual and his hair – which was unruly even on a good day – looked like he had just been electrocuted.

“I need your help.”

Stanley raised an eyebrow. “No shit. Close the door.”

Richie closed the door and promptly slumped down on the ground in front of it.

“Help me, Stanley-nobi. You’re my only hope.”

“You are being dramatic.” Stanley sat down on the floor in front of Richie. “What happened?”

“So… you know how the dance is coming up?”

“If you mean the school dance, yes.”

“I… I might have asked Eddie?”

Stanley pursed his lips and thought about it. “And that is bad because…?”

Richie stared at him in disbelief. “He said _yes_?!”

Stanley sighed and ran a hand over his face. “Then where is the problem?”

“I didn’t think he would say yes!”

“Seriously?” Stanley rolled his eyes.

“Stan? What do I do now?”

“Now, you go to the dance with Eddie. I seriously don’t see where the problem is.”

“I didn’t plan further than asking him!” Richie pulled at his hair – well, that explained the Albert-Einstein-look at least – and stared at Stanley in utter helplessness. “I don’t know what to do! I don’t even fucking know how to dance and shit!”

“Neither do I so don’t even think about asking me for help there.” Stanley took a deep breath. “Is the dancing the only problem here?”

“I… no? Obviously not?”

“Richie, you are being a gay disaster and aren’t thinking normally. If Eddie said yes, then you two will go to the dance. Simple.”

“And Eddie’s Mom?”

“Tell her you two are going as friends.”

“She doesn’t like me.”

“She doesn’t like any of us since Eddie broke his arm.”

“Fair. Not the point though.”

Stanley sighed. He really wished someone else was here to help him with this conversation. “Are there any worries apart from the dancing and Eddie’s Mom?”

“Just, like, everyone else in fucking Derry.” Richie buried his face in his arms.

“I mean, the Losers won’t judge you. Bill is going with Mike.”

“Because Mike’s homeschooled and doesn’t go to our school.”

“Alissa Blyth and Mila Zeith are going together.”

“Yeah but they’re girls! Girls always go to dances as friends!”

Stanley resisted a frustrated groan. “As long as you don’t shove your tongue into Eddie’s mouth in front of everyone, you will be fine.”

Richie slumped against Stanley’s door. “No, I won’t. I am panicking, Stan.”

“I hadn’t noticed.” Stanley sighed. This was gonna be a _long_ afternoon…

**°°°**

“Honey? I’m home!” Stanley gently closed the front door and hung his jacket up on the coat rack. “Where are you?”

“Living room!”

Patty was sitting in front of the TV, not on the couch, but on the floor, the cat with the very unfortunate name _Fork_ in her lap, and gave her husband a bright smile when he walked in.

“How was your day?”

“Like every other day.” Stanley sat down next to her, kissed her on the cheek and scratched Fork behind the ears. “And yours?”

“Ah, well – thank Goodness for extra sick days. And chocolate.”

Stanley laughed and gave her another kiss.

“What are you watching?”

“Uh… this weird comedian-guy. Richie… _something_.”

“Huh.” Stanley turned his attention towards the TV. The comedian – Richie something – had black curly hair, thick glasses and wore a greenish leather jacket over a faded band shirt. He was talking about an incident in the early 90s when he had barged into his best friend’s room in a total panic because he had asked out his crush for the school dance.

That story was oddly familiar. As was the face… and the speech melody.

“Uh… be right back.”

Stanley got up and got his phone from the pocket of his jacket. He didn’t have many numbers saved, but one – Bill Denbrough – was still there. He typed out a message and wondered why his fingers were suddenly shaking.

**Hi Bill, it’s me, Stan – do you have Richie’s number?**

The answer came back promptly.

**Stan! Hi! Sure, one sec – do you need Eddie’s, too?**

**That would be great. I only have you and Mike.**

His phone buzzed twice – Bill had sent him two contact informations. _Trashmouth_ and _Eddie_.

**Thanks. I owe you.**

**No problem. Talk again soon?**

**Sure.**

Stanley saved the two numbers and walked back into the living room.

“Is that live?”, he asked.

Patty frowned. “No, don’t think so… why? What’s going on, Stan?”

“I… that guy, Richie Tozier – we were friends as kids.”

“What? No way, really?”

Stan nodded. “I just didn’t have his number. Had to ask Bill for it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you knew him?”

Stanley had to think about it for a moment. “I think I just… I didn’t remember. Strange, huh?”

And he typed a message to _Trashmouth_.

**Hello Richie – this is Stanley. From Derry. Remember me? My wife found your performance on TV. So that’s what you’re doing now?**

The answer didn’t come until the next evening.

**STAN THE MAN! Dude! Totally forgot about you! (no offense!) How are you?**

**Wait. WIFE? WIFE?!?!?!?!?!?!**

**STANLEY URIS?! WHAT WIFE?!?!?**

Stanley laughed. Apparently Richie Tozier was as chaotic as ever. He typed an answer.

**°°°**

The call came late in the evening. Mike. Mike Hanlon – with whom Stanley had kept brief contact via letters and the occasional text.

It had been a short conversation, but it left Stanley shaking like a leaf as memories – fuzzy and dark – swarmed his mind.

“Stanley?”

“Can you lock away… the… the sharp things?”

He barely got the words out.

“Stanley, you’re scaring me.” Patty was next to him, holding his arm. Her knuckles were white.

“Just a feeling.” Stanley forced himself to take a deep breath. “I don’t want to do anything stupid.”

And he told her everything he knew. He had already told her about Derry, well, whatever he actually remembered – and now he told her about the oath that he faintly recalled, and Mike’s message on the phone.

“I have to go, Pat. I… I don’t know why, but… It’s important. Somehow.”

Patty sighed. “I don’t like this.”

“Me neither.”

“That much is clear. You’re a mess.” There was no sting behind her words. “You should call your friends. Bill and Richie. I don’t want to you going there alone.”

“You won’t insist on bringing me?”

“I want to. But you wouldn’t allow it anyways so why waste breath arguing?”

Patty handed him the phone that he had dropped. “Call them. Now.”

Stanley kissed her. “I love you.”

“I know. Now call them.”

And she stayed with him, holding him in her arms while, with trembling fingers, he found Richie’s number in his phone – he still had him saved as Trashmouth – and pressed the call-button.

“Stanley?”

Richie sounded weak.

“Hi Rich.”

“So Mike called you, too?”

“Yeah, about half an hour ago.”

“He called me right before I went on stage. Worst show of my life.” Richie laughed bitterly and then said: “I puked, you know that?”

Stan wrinkled his nose. “Didn’t need that information.”

“I did though.” Richie sighed. “D’you think he called all of us?”

“Probably, if he has all the numbers.”

“He’s Mike. He definitely has all our numbers.”

“Probably.” Stan ran a hand over his face. “I only have four.”

“You’re better than me, then, I have two.”

Stanley laughed, even though he did not feel at all like laughing. “So… are you going?”

“I mean, I have to, right?”

“Think so.”

“You’re going, too?”

“I mean, I have to, right?”

Richie chuckled darkly. “Want me to pick you up or something?”

Stanley responded by giving Richie his address.

**°°°**

They were soaked in grime and dirty water and blood and… Stanley didn’t even want to know what it all was… and stared at the stop where the Neighbolt House had been.

There was just rubble and dust now.

No more scary grey wooden façade with newspaper-taped windows. No more scare broken stairs. Likely no more twisted sewage tunnels beneath it anymore either.

No more Pennywise.

It’s voice was still ringing in his ears though.

Eddie, who was supported by Stanley and Richie, moaned in pain, bringing them all back to reality.

“We… we… hospital”, Richie got out. Stanley nodded.

A few hours later, they had cleaned up – more or less – in the various bathrooms of the hospital, and Eddie was out of surgery.

Stanley sat on one of the uncomfortable visitor’s area chairs, bouncing one leg. He had called Patty and told her _It’s over_ and _I’ll explain everything when I come back_ and _I’m okay_.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ben holding a crying Beverly, and Mike staring at a bleached-out photo strip.

There were still remnants of Pennywise’s heart beneath his fingernails.

Bill stepped out of Eddie’s room and gently tapped on Stanley’s shoulder.

“Your turn”, he said, lowly. Stanley just nodded and got up.

It was scary, seeing Eddie like this. Scarier than the It, because this was real – a different kind of real.

Wires and tubes and IVs and beeping monitors.

Richie was occupying one of the two chairs next to the bed and was practically slumped over the edge of the bed. His glasses were still speckled with Eddie’s blood and there was a small crack.

Stanley sat down next to him and – without thinking much – wrapped and arm around his best friend’s shoulders.

“Hey.”

Richie responded with a choked noise.

“He’s gonna make it.” Stanley actually believed himself. “He’s way too stubborn not to.”

“He better.” Richie swallowed audibly. “I… I didn’t… I never told…”

He didn’t have to finish the sentence for Stanley to know what he meant.

“I think he knew. Knows.”

“Really?”

“If he isn’t just as stupid as you when it comes to love-things, then yes.”

“Hah. You’re the right person to say that.”

Stanley raised an eyebrow. “Oh really?”

“You… I remember now… you never got it when girls were flirting with you.”

“I did get it. I just wasn’t interested.”

“Suuuure.”

“You don’t have to believe me, it’s still true.” Stanley poked Richie in the side. “At least I never ran into the room of my best friend in an utter panic because I asked out my crush.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know, my audience _loves_ that story.”

“Obviously. People like laughing about idiots.”

Stanley took a deep breath. “Point is, Eddie’s gonna be fine.”

“Probably.”

“He _will_.” Stanley paused. “Well… apart from having a very angry wife at home I guess.”

“Oh God, his wife. His… biiiig wife.”

“Nothing wrong with being big, y’know.”

“Says the stringbean.”

“Not the point.” Stanley leaned back. “And once you two get your shit together, it won’t matter anyways.”

“You mean, I should… like… ask him out?”

Stan groaned. “See? This is what I mean when I say you’re useless at love. You’re utterly useless!”

“Love you too, Stan the Man.”

“Will you ever stop calling me that?”

“Nope.”

**°°°**

They had gotten great seats – one of the perks of being friends with the performers on stage, probably. One of the _very few_ perks, Stanley thought.

“So… so the thing about being friends with Stanley”, Richie said, on stage. “Is that you feel like you’re in church. And the guy’s _Jewish_ , for fuck’s sake!”

Stanley sighed.

“Seriously! You constantly have to apologize. Every few seconds, you have to say _Sorry, Stanley_. _I’m sorry Stanley. Forgive me, Stanley, for I have fucked up royally!_ ”

Patty, next to him, stifled a giggle with her hands. Stanley shot her a disbelieving glance.

“Sorry”, she whispered. “But it’s kind of true!”

“Is not!”

“Should I record the two of you bickering sometime?”

Stanley decided it was best not to answer to that.

“But hey, at least Stanley can hold a stable relationship for _years_ – that’s more than what any of our friends can say about each other!”, Richie went on. “See, there’s Bill – who writes scary books with horrible endings – who was left by his girlfriend over, I don’t know, some actor, I don’t even know… and that guy wasn’t even _good-looking_ or anything! I don’t think Mike ever had a relationship with a real human, honestly, he seems totally fine with his books… which, valid, I guess…”

Stan looked over to Mike, who sat a few seats next to him. The man was shaking his head with a fond smile on his lips.

“Bev”, Richie continued. “She finally realized she’s worth more than her ass of ex-husband – took her only, like, ten years, but good for her. Seriously though. Good for her. She’s dating a guy now who – he’s like, the opposite of _peaked in High School_. Y’know? Dammit those two are hot.”

Stanley didn’t have to look back over his shoulder to know that Ben was blushing furiously.

Richie cleared his throat. “Unfair, really. Anyways, so, at least most of them had relationships – meanwhile I spent years pining after this hypochondriac kid I went to High School with… and my boyfriend was married to a woman who was basically a clone of his mother… don’t ask, he was a _very_ confused man for a while.”

Patty giggled against Stanley’s shoulder and whispered something of “Richie will _so_ regret that later” which Stan decided to ignore – he did not need _that_ mental image, thank you very much…

On stage, Richie went on and on, until he finally got to the end.

“Anyways – so obviously I’m a fucking loser, and my friends are… barely better… but at least we got to fight a demon clown as kids and lived to tell the tale. No, I will not give you any context for that. Goodnight!”

And he left the stage.

Once the room had cleared out a bit, the Losers and Patty got to their feet and made their way backstage. Eddie was sitting on a huge suitcase-thing for musical equipment, dangling his feet, and Richie was in the midst of chucking down half a bottle of water.

He accepted the congratulations and hugs from his friends with wide grins and “Thank you” after “Thank you” – and then looked over to Stan.

“And you? Stan the Man? How did you like it?”

Stan shrugged, feigning disinterest. “Well, your voice game certainly improved.”

Richie raised an eyebrow. “That’s all?”

“You have a Bill-problem.” Stan allowed himself a small grin. “Your endings are bad. Seriously.”

Bill mumbled something and pulled a face at Stanley. Richie laughed. “Of course _you_ would say that!”

Stan shrugged again. “You spent two hours rambling about us all and our relationships as so on, and then in the last minute you whip out the clown? I don’t know, wouldn’t the clown-bit be more interesting?”

“Stan, you do not know how comedy works.”

Stan shrugged for the third time. “Whatever.”

“Good to know you liked it, then.” Richie pulled something out of his backpack and tossed it at Stanley.

It was a t-shirt. The back had all the cities and dates for Richie Trashmouth Tozier on it – the front, in big letters, read _SORRY STAN_.

Patty was the first to laugh, then the others burst out as well. Stanley took the time to give Richie a stink eye and the finger, but then grinned himself.

“Love ya too, Stan”, Richie said.


End file.
